


Stay a While

by Okadiah



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Bittersweet, but an uplifting ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 01:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14069949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okadiah/pseuds/Okadiah
Summary: Janus Kasmir visits the Lothal memorial to remember a boy he'd once saved, and for closure he never received.





	Stay a While

**Author's Note:**

> So, I really wanted Kasmir and Kanan to meet up in the series, just once. And since it doesn't seem like that happened, here we are! The fic no one asked for.
> 
> Prepare for some feels. I hope you enjoy :]

Pressing the pads of his fingers into his brow, Janus Kasmir took a slow, steadying breath before he bullied himself to enter the quiet, sunlit alcove he’d spent the last half hour searching for. He’d thought he’d been ready for this. It had been years, after all. Longer than a while. He shouldn’t be hesitating like this. He shouldn’t.

Still, the moment his footsteps echoed into the clean, open-air room of the memorial, and he saw the mural on the other end – figures beautifully colored, ornately detailed, but reflective and somber – Kasmir had to suck in another breath before forcing himself to stand in front of it. Clench his teeth against the sting of deeply buried emotions. Emotions he’d thought time had eased.

The lingering sentiments he’d still held for an old friend. A friend who was gone.

Caleb. Caleb Dume.

He hadn’t been, when Kasmir had first suspected Caleb had done the insane thing and taken up his old ways. It was several years before the Empire fell when he’d started hearing whispers of Jedi in the Lothal sector. The first time Kleeve had told him about it, he’d snickered. Times had been bad, no doubt about that, but the old Separatist general was talking about _Jedi_ of all things? Yeah, sure.

What they heard were nothing but stories. Talk. That’s all it ever was. The Jedi were dead – no one knew that better than they did – and the smart ones like the one Jedi he _had_ known had given up the practice.

Kasmir hoped, at least, the kid had given up the practice and not gone back.

Still, the rumors kept cropping up all over the Outer Rim. Jedi. Lightsabers. The Force. A man, a boy, and a rebel cell giving the Empire a special level of obstinate hell. Soon his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he’d, well, _inquired_ as to the name of said Jedi.

Maybe half his rotten heart had hoped. Maybe it had beat just a little harder than it should’ve when he’d gotten a name.

Kanan Jarrus.

Kleeve had been there for the news, and it was all Kasmir could do to keep the disappointment off his face and replace it with snarky relief. Boisterous laughter at his own stupid expectations. Not the kid. Not Caleb Dume.

Still, whoever this Kanan Jarrus was, he’d gained some infamy across the rim and Kasmir couldn’t ignore the stories involving him. He’d heard words like cocky. Smuggler. Rough. He’d heard words like steady. Kind. Selfless.

And Kasmir had wondered.

Every time he’d heard a story in passing, his eyes had narrowed because it _couldn’t be_. The kid couldn’t be that stupid, not after so long. The kid had made it _very_ clear what he thought about the Force and the ways of the Jedi. Hell, he’d given it up in the first place because Kasmir had been the one to open his eyes about how likely it was to get him killed. There was no way. _No. Way._

Then Kleeve had come in with a wanted poster of the Jedi, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips as the Devaronian had handed it over.

And Kasmir had grinned bigger and brighter than he had in years because _yes_. It was him. The kid. Caleb Dume, all grown up and fighting the Empire with that lightsaber he’d sworn up and down he’d never touch again and the same devil-may-care look he’d had all those years ago.

Oh, the pride that had roared through Kasmir’s tuft-sucking chest. Look at him go, this Kanan Jarrus with his merry band of miscreants. With a boy just like him, a Padawan! The galaxy had suddenly seemed brighter, and every gig he and Kleeve took was a little more rebellious. A little more supportive of the various rebel cells in the area. A little more for the right reasons and a little less about the money.

He couldn’t wait for the day their paths would cross again. Then he’d smack the kid for practically stealing his name before pulling him into a spine-crushing hug for old-time’s sake. They’d catch up then. Exchange stories. Share drinks. Maybe get into some overdue trouble together. He’d meet that pretty Twi’lek lady always seen with him and the rest of the kid’s crew. He’d make sure Caleb was well taken care of. Kasmir couldn’t wait.

But no matter what he’d done, he’d never quite make it as far as the Lothal sector. Imperial presence there had skyrocketed, and soon it was only because the rumors about Kanan Jarrus kept circulating that he’d stopped himself from worrying. Kasmir had never met anyone as lucky as that kid. Caleb was a survivor. Kasmir had helped teach him, after all. He _knew._

Didn’t mean he wasn’t saddened to hear that Caleb had been blinded at some point. That, though news of a rebellion was growing, stories of him were becoming rarer. Harder to come by. Soon Kasmir was paying contacts extra for even a scrap of information on the Jedi.

Then the information came easy again. The kid was back on Lothal, despite the heavy Imperial presence. Him and a small band of rebels. That was when Kasmir had started hearing the odds. The doubts. That some hot-shot alien Grand Admiral with an impressive win-streak had them pinned down. They couldn’t get away. They hadn’t been able to move.

Despite the odds, Kasmir never doubted the kid would come through. That’s what Caleb Dume _did._ He beat the odds. He _always_ beat the odds. He was a Jedi after all. That’s what he _did._

The night he found out that Kanan Jarrus had been killed, it was as if a light in the galaxy had gone out for him. Some great star he hadn’t realized he’d depended on – like the ones he’d stare at when he was lost at night or drifting through the middle of space – was suddenly gone.

Kasmir didn’t remember much about that night. Only Kleeve dragging his sorry caucus off the cantina floor and onto his bunk where he disgraced himself and heaved his booze for the first time in years. The dark depression that followed had clung to his heart like deep carbon scoring. The realization that he was _never_ going to see that kid’s goofy grin again, or smack him upside the head, or give him one single kriffing hug was worse, stars damn it all.

Caleb Dume was gone. But Kasmir couldn’t say he was surprised when, not long after, he’d heard the kid’s actions had led to the liberation of Lothal. A major win for the growing rebellion.

And that was when he and Kleeve had committed to helping the rebellion in whatever way they could. A surprising move for a couple of old smuggler like them, but if they could help support the thing the kid had _died_ for, then stars better believe they’d do it too. If only for Caleb.

The day the Empire fell was the day he drank again, if only to toast Caleb Dume.

It had taken him a while, but as things settled down and the Empire crumbled apart, Kasmir had been determined to get to Lothal. Through the grapevine, he’d heard there was a memorial of sorts set up there to honor the Lothal rebels who’d saved the planet. It was as good a place as any to pay his respects.

And it was why he was here now after taking a detour and putting off delivering his cargo. It hadn’t taken much footwork to find his way here either. He’d barely opened his mouth before five locals had all but jumped at the chance to tell him how to get here.

The aura of peace and solace which permeated the alcove where the mural overlooked the landscape of the planet curled around him as his eyes drifted across the painting. The Lothal rebels.

Kasmir didn’t need to look hard to figure out which of the figures was Caleb.

“A beard, huh?” he said to the painting, studying the man Caleb Dume had become. This Kanan Jarrus. “And you got big. Kept your hair back too, I see. Taught you right.”

His gruff voice sounded thin and alone, the words nowhere close to everything he wished he could tell Caleb. Kasmir kept his hands on his hips or crossed against his chest to keep himself from touching the mural. He had no idea how long he stood there, lost in his thoughts of a kid who’d grown up and saved an entire planet and helped start a rebellion, as he struggled to find the right words to say to Caleb’s memory. Kasmir kept staring at the paint, at the pale eyes staring back at him as if they might somehow become Caleb’s and real. That they’d tell him more about this Kanan Jarrus Caleb had become. So he’d _know._

But they didn’t. And they never would.

Kasmir sighed and let his eyes drop from the mural, bothered and unsettled but unsure what to do about it. It was time to go, though it was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d thought he’d find … well, he didn’t know. Closure was a weird word for what he felt since he hadn’t seen the kid in over twenty years, but still. He’d hoped for something.

He supposed the silence of the dead was as fitting as anything. He gave the painted Kanan Jarrus a wry smile.

“See you ‘round, kid.”

Just as he turned to leave, the echoing sound of childish laughter was the only warning he got before a small, green-haired blur burst into the chamber and all but ran into his legs. It was a boy, couldn’t be more than a handful of years old, and it was only Kasmir’s quick reflexes that caught the kid before he toppled over. Another figure rounded the corner with an exasperated look on her green face before it morphed into apology when she realized what had happened.

“I’m so sorry, did he run into you?” the Twi’lek asked as she neared. The boy looked sheepishly up at his mother as she gave him a stern look. “What have I told you about running ahead?”

“Sorry, mom.”

“Hey, it’s all right,” Kasmir said easily. “No harm done. I’m sure the little guy will watch out next time, right?”

“Right,” the boy said with a grin, and suddenly Kasmir couldn’t help but stare because there was something in that open quirk of lips. Something familiar. Maybe it was in the cheeks, or the nose, or the eyes, but there was something, a niggle of intuition—

Kasmir glanced at the boy’s mother and realized … he’d seen her before. He knew this Twi’lek. She was the one in the old wanted posters who’d run with Caleb and his rebel cell. The general and expert pilot. The one who’d helped take back Lothal. The one in the mural, next to Caleb.

This was the same Twi’lek. And this must be her son. Her half-human son.

Swallowing, Kasmir studied the mural again, noticed how close the two figures were standing, the hand on her shoulder and general contentment which surrounded them, and it was like the floor fell out from under him.

“Wait a second,” he breathed, and unable to stop himself, Kasmir sunk to a knee so he wasn’t towering and intimidating to a kid this small, and studied him. Blue eyes. Chubby face. Insane green hair and just a bit of his mom’s coloring around the edges. Cute. Maybe too cute.

But his heart ached because there Caleb was, _right there_. In those eyebrows. In that curious gaze. In that goofy grin that could’ve lit all the stars in the sky.

“Hey there,” Kasmir said with a gentle smile. “Stars, you’re just like him.”

“Like who?” the boy asked with the sweetest voice as his mother looked on curiously. Kasmir’s eyes softened as he glanced between this small boy and the image painted on the wall.

“Like your dad, kid. You’re just like him.”

The boy’s face lit up with hope and excitement, and it tore Kasmir’s kriffing heart to pieces.

“You knew my dad?”

The Twi’lek arched her brow, surprised. “You knew Kanan?”

“Yeah, I knew him,” Kasmir said as he slowly stood, sighing softly. “Years ago. He was Caleb Dume back then. Before … you know. Before the Empire. I looked out for him. Helped get him through the,” Kasmir glanced down at the boy, suddenly unsure what to say. “The transition.”

Her green eyes widened. “Wait a minute … your name wouldn’t happen to be Janus Kasmir, would it?”

He stared at her before a warm wave of bittersweet delight filled his chest because the kid had _remembered_ him! Even after all this time. He’d talked about him. Named him.

“Yeah,” Kasmir said, his voice going rough at the end and he forced himself to swallow it down and get himself back under control. “Yeah, that’s me.”

The Twi’lek’s eyes shown with old love and old sorrow, and she gave him a small smile. “He told me about you and what you did for him. I think he always hoped he’d get the chance to meet you again. To thank you, since it was largely because of you that he learned how to survive after the Republic fell.”

It was like she’d shot him in the chest at close range. Kasmir breathed through his nose and looked away. Looked at the ceiling. Looked at the massive, gaping hole in the wall. At anything so long as he could get himself back under control. But it hurt. It hurt knowing Caleb had wanted to see him again, maybe as much as he’d wanted to see the kid too. Stars, he thought this would be _easier_.

Finally, Kasmir looked back at Caleb’s small family and ached.

“Thanks for … for telling me that,” he finally said, his voice thickening. The wave of emotions crashing through him a bit too strong, the pressure in his chest a little too sharp and persistent. Kasmir turned to go. “I’ll just … I’ll leave. Wouldn’t want to interrupt—"

“Wait.”

Kasmir glanced over his shoulder, and the Twi’lek turned to face him, her lekku flaring around her shoulders with the motion. She held his eyes unflinchingly, letting him see a touch of her own vulnerability there, and hope.

“Would you … do you mind staying?” she asked. “Just for a little while, if that wouldn’t be a problem. I could feed you dinner in exchange, I just … I’d – we’d – love to hear any stories you have about him. Kanan. Caleb. And I’d be happy to tell you the ones I have, if you’re interested.” She paused, then belatedly added. “I’m Hera, by the way. Hera Syndulla. This is my son, Jacen.”

Her green eyes and her boy’s blues were both hopeful, and Kasmir thought about the jobs he had lined up. He thought about Kleeve, who would be expecting him soon. He thought about the batch of Chaitwan ice that would melt in the _Kasmiri’s_ hold, and all the money he’d lose out on if he didn’t make the shipment in time.

The tight, bothered feeling in his chest relaxed, and Kasmir smiled at them.

“Nice to meet you both,” he said, moving back toward Hera and Jacen, ready for what he knew would be a long night he already looked forward to. “And yeah. I’d like that.”


End file.
